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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27677348">Supersweet</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/grosss/pseuds/grosss'>grosss</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>My Chemical Romance</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Belly Kink, Dairy Queen, M/M, Teasing, That was a joke - Freeform, Van Days, Warped Tour, fat shaming but like it's consensual and sexy, feederism, i want to die, maybe I will kms after posting this who knows, yep definitely want to die</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 00:29:32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,184</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27677348</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/grosss/pseuds/grosss</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"Laundromat." Is all he can come up with, and Frank is staring at him like he knows he's full of shit.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Frank Iero/Gerard Way</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>36</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Supersweet</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello, friends. I come to you with more degenerate garbage. I have brain worms and have had them since I was a wee lass. On that note:<br/>This is a fetish fanfic from my shitty little brain- I mean no real harm in anything that I write or post here, but if you struggle with eating in any way shape or form, I would proceed with caution, or skip this one. I think that it's possible to write fanfic that deals with unconventional kinks while staying respectful to those involved and to those reading said fanfic, and I always, always try to do that. It's important to me that we keep fantasy and reality separate. I am merely using these two lads as a vessel for my evil little thoughts. Also I love how chunky Gerard used to be and I am only human. That's all. </p><p>Disclaimer out of the way- I'M GOING TO MAKE THIS WEIRD.jpeg. Special thanks to @ thiscorrosion for editing this with me. It's been sitting in my drafts for literal months now and has been driving me insane. I love you eternally because we share the same brain worms. </p><p>Good luck, have fun, shoot and ideas/complaints/critiques my way in the comments section! Find me at grossontumlr dot tumblr dot com or on Twitter at awfu1fuck. I am open to and intend to write some "normal" fics as well. Bye bye.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>August 18th, 2004</p><p>Gerard lifts a fistful of hair off of the back of his neck, tugging at the collar of his t-shirt. It's August in the East Coast, and in the ten minutes they've been stopped, it feels like all of the AC has been sucked out of the van since the minute the engine was turned off. Gerard wiggles his toes inside of his boots, stretching his legs out in front of him and debating crawling over Mikey to walk in circles for ten minutes while they get gas.</p><p>"Frank, wait," Gerard grabs at his arm as he ducks out of the van, pulling him back inside and putting on the most pathetic look he can muster, mostly for show, partly because he knows that Frank is a sucker for him. He knows that now, and it fills him with a tingly sense of pride every time he's reminded. No more guessing games, no more obsessively combing his hair and fiddling with his jackets and trying to impress him, no more brushing against his shoulder at practices and asking him if he knows where the clean towels are and does he want to see the lyrics that Gerard is working on, because he really wants his opinion?</p><p>Frank is in love with him, and Gerard is more than a little smug about it. Well- maybe not in love, they haven't had that discussion yet- but he did suck him off in a venue bathroom last week, and told him that he was a genius the last time they smoked together, and it's all the same to Gerard.</p><p>He clutches at Frank's hand in the back of the van now, giving it a little squeeze because he can and he likes touching him. "Are you going in?"</p><p>The back of Frank's hair is sticking up from the static friction of the upholstered seat, and there's a sweat stain around his left armpit. Something in Gerard's stomach flutters, because he doesn't think he's ever been so attracted to a man in his twenty six years.</p><p>Frank nods. "Yeah, you need smokes?"</p><p>Gerard nods back. "I don't wanna get up, there's too much shit back here-" He pulls a crumpled $10 bill from his wallet, pushing it into Frank's hand. "Can you get me some chips? And a Coke? Diet coke," He corrects himself, ever telling himself that the Diet label makes a difference. Mikey told him that years ago, and he's still convinced. They've been on this stretch for four hours so far and have only stopped twice. Gerard is bored and a little hungry, mostly bored, and he wants nothing more than to read his book and eat.</p><p> </p><p> ----------------------</p><p> August 19th 2004<br/>
Gillette Stadium, Mansfield MA </p><p>Gerard braces himself, almost hesitates, and sends a quick text to Frank from across the field:</p><p>“Going2 DQw, want 2 come with ?” </p><p>He grins to himself despite the typos, fingers fumbling over the little keys, still buzzed from the afterparty earlier. They're almost on the home stretch of the tour, and Dairy Queen at one o'clock in the morning sounds like the best idea he's ever had.</p><p>Frank grins, laughter in his eyes, looks Gerard up and down, taking in his t-shirt that he stole from Adam to his fraying slacks to his worn sneakers that he thinks are probably Mikey’s. They are Mikey's, but he likes them, and they end up in his bag more often than not. The corners of Frank’s lips twitch.</p><p>“You want to go now?"</p><p>Gerard closes his phone. The little screen reads 12:57AM. He smiles and nods.</p><p>Frank stands closer to where he sits, head resting back against the seat of the breakfast nook. He lowers his voice a few decibels.</p><p>“You think you need Dairy Queen?” Frank is smiling at him, the same familiar, affectionate smile he gives whenever Gerard does something stupid that Frank has deemed worthy of a loving jab. </p><p>Gerard wants to respond, wants to respond very badly, but his face just goes all hot and no words come out. He just sits there, mouth open, feeling his stomach clench with something that's definitely more lust than hurt. The question hangs in the air and Gerard blinks in surprise, feeling the blood rush in his ears. Maybe he doesn’t, maybe junk food is the last thing his body needs, but he wants, and Frank has decided that it’s an opportunity to flirt. Gerard doesn’t understand.<br/>
Frank is looking at him, eyebrows raised, and Gerard is choking on his words before he can bite out something equally nasty back, as per their boyish flirtatious East Coast rapport.</p><p> </p><p>Frank has a point, Gerard knows he’s right. He’s put on thirty pounds in the past year alone, and he knows he can only attribute some of that to the drinking. His western shirt from two years prior no longer fits- it fits, but not in any way he would dare go onstage in. He’s a little bummed; more about the loss of the shirt, but his clothes haven’t been fitting properly since his interning days. He’s gotten used to it. </p><p>Gerard opens his mouth once again to ask, "What?" Even though the look Frank is giving him is more flirtatious than anything else. He doesn't answer, only leans down to press a fond kiss to his lips.</p><p>Gerard decides to leave it, basking in his own shame.</p><p> -----------<br/>
Dairy Queen, Foxborough, MA </p><p> </p><p>“Don’t back out on me now, I paid for that.” Frank chuckles and tosses his head in the direction of Gerard’s tray. The large Blizzard in addition to his two-chicken sandwich meal may have been a bit much, but it sounded like a good idea at the time- the time being fifteen minutes ago, clutching onto Frank as he stared at the menu and the kid behind the counter held back a laugh when he saw his red eyes.</p><p>“What, all of thirteen bucks?” Gerard scoffs and shoves another French fry into his mouth.</p><p>"Yeah, know how much mine was? Six." Frank sips at his coke, still working on his own fries, taking his time. Something registers in the back of Gerard's mind that Frank is taking his sweet fucking time not with him but because of him, because Gerard has ordered three times the amount of food he has.</p><p> Frank is trying to be polite.</p><p>He's waiting for him, watching in quick, measured glances over his drink, watches as Gerard fumbles and drips blended ice cream onto the table and works his way through a mountain of fries. Gerard suddenly feels like it's hard to breathe in the booth, whether from his heightened awareness of Frank watching him or his ever-tightening pants, he isn’t sure. He suddenly feels like he’s making a scene, pile of wrappers in front of him and Frank's eyes going back and forth between him and the table, like he doesn't quite know where to look, or he's too shy to hold his gaze on Gerard for too long.<br/>
He isn’t, though; the only other people in the restaurant are an old couple near the front and a few kids from the festival who seem more stoned than Gerard is currently. The kids either don’t see them, or hadn’t come to see My Chem and don’t give a shit about them. Gerard is grateful either way. </p><p>So they sit, Gerard eats, and Frank asks him about the party and if he wants Frank to take his clothes to the hotel laundry in the morning for him. </p><p>“Dude,” Gerard puts his spoon down for a split second, weed-dampened thoughts bringing out a giggle. “Frank, your face is so red.” He grins, leaning back in the booth. 


Consuming nearly 2,000 calories in one sitting in the middle of the night probably isn’t the best idea he’s had, but he’s done worse things to his body. He’s happy, at least right then. He thinks about the fact that the tour is almost over, and the feeling of relief that brings is enough to comfort him. His thoughts are all over the place and he briefly considers getting sober, at the same time it dawns on him that Frank is a little too invested in his snacking. 


Frank is looking at him like he wants to scramble on top of him in the middle of the restaurant, and Gerard isn’t about to complain about a look like that. He’ll deal with that later, he supposes. </p><p>Gerard frowns at his empty ice cream cup and Frank laughs, grabbing his empty hand and yanking it across the plastic-coated table to give it a kiss. “Love you,” Frank grins. Gerard shakes his head, hair slapping him in the face. “Love you,” he relents. </p><p> -----<br/>
Super 8 Motels, Westgate, MA</p><p>Frank is still tugging at Gerard’s clothes, somehow struggling even in the dim hotel room. His hands land on the button of Gerard’s pants, his worn old slacks that he wears offstage sometimes when he doesn’t have any clean jeans. How he has clean stage clothes but no clean denim, he isn’t sure, but they were comfy enough to throw on to give a few hugs and shotgun a beer on the Used bus without lugging himself around in sweaty fabric for an hour.<br/>
Frank’s hands are on his fly, taking forever like he hadn’t hooked up with a dozen people at Rutgers years before, and Gerard is sober enough to be annoyed by that. Frank’s fingers are catching at his button, hanging on by four little threads, and Gerard still closes his pants up with it just fine, hardly notices at this point, how it leaves a funny little gap when his slacks are closed, how it’s definitely still attached but nearing the end of its life. He doesn’t think about it, honestly- it’s just that it’s been hard to get his pants to close lately, he’s had to tug a little. It’s fine.<br/>
Frank is still staring at the button.<br/>
“Fuck is wrong with you?” Gerard narrows his eyes, only a little miffed- he is about to get a hand job, after all.<br/>
Frank only looks at him, and shrugs as if to say, “What’s wrong with you?”<br/>
His fingers still holding the abused little button, he looks up at Gerard. "What happened here?" He gives it a little experimental tug, and it takes all of Gerard's willpower to not grab his hand and stop him, because he actually likes those pants and he's afraid the button will come right off if Frank isn't careful. He actually flinches a little bit.</p><p>"Laundromat." Is all he can come up with, and Frank is staring at him like he knows he's full of shit. "Laundromats and hotel dryers, they always fuck up my clothes," Gerard explains, like he's recited it to himself so many times in his head.<br/>
“That right?” Frank teases, right hand gripping at his waist, nails digging into the flesh at his sides. </p><p>Gerard can only nod dumbly, feeling himself flush at the way Frank is taunting him, the way his gut is all too visible as Frank toys with his t-shirt. He doesn’t mind, though, just wants Frank to get on with it and stick his hand in his pants as soon as possible. </p><p>Frank still has his hands planted firmly on him, staring up at him with expectant eyes. </p><p>“Dude, come on-” Gerard almost whines, shifting around from foot to foot.<br/>
Frank grins. “Not until you look me in the eye and seriously tell me that the laundromat was what broke your pants.” </p><p>“Shit,” Gerard swears, taking one shaky breath after another. “That’s not important, it’s-” He closes his eyes. Maybe Frank is right. Maybe this is the biggest he’s been in years. His suits hide it, but Frank is always there, pulling his clothes out of the way, touching and prodding at him like he’s never seen anything like it before; and maybe Gerard is just a little bit okay with that. </p><p>“It doesn’t matter.” Gerard finishes, mouth set in a little line. “Doesn’t matter why, okay?” </p><p>“Oh,” Frank nods, calmly rocking back and forth like Ray just asked him when he wanted to do soundcheck. “Right, so you haven’t gotten any fatter in the last, I don’t know,” He shoves more fabric out of the way, and Gerard swallows back a sad little noise as warm fingers wrap around his dick. “Two years?” </p><p>“That’s not fair.” Gerard sucks at his own lower lip, slumping against the bed. Frank’s right hand is still on him, knuckles that read HALLO- still visible. </p><p>Frank only shrugs and ignores him, tickling his fingers along his waist. With way too much seriousness, he says, "You need to get new pants."</p><p>Gerard’s senses are all going haywire, shame and lust washing over him in alternating waves. He’s once again reminded that the tour is coming to an end and he’ll be home soon. Frank is working one hand up under his shirt and tugging at his nipples. He tells Gerard that he’s soft. Gerard thinks that he just might be okay.</p>
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